I live under constant pressure to pump out meatingful posts. Fortunately every once in a while a meatsenger from God comes bearing opportunity.
This past weekend my excessively tall and dangerously malnourished roommate returned home from a trip to Seattle. In his frail hands he carried a pristine pressure cooker; the chrome of the pot gleamed with potential and anticipation. As I contemplated the new domestic addition I realized that it was my duty to expand my cooking into the uncharted territory of my housemate's pressure cooker. This was my Meatifest Destiny.
I armed myself with virtuous pork chops and marched towards an unexplored cooker. After browning and lightly seasoning my chops I lathered them in divine sauce and turned up the pressure; five quick minutes later my mission was complete. The pressure cooker had been colonized by Gary Mustard and the purity of meaty ideals was spreading across the great land that I call the kitchen. The final accessories for my pressurized pork were a bath of angelic berry sauce and a dusting of the satisfaction that only comes with fulfilling your destiny.
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